


Baileys Hill

by Bewhatyoudream



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bisexual Character, Character of Color, Disabled Character, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magic, Sarcasm, Superheroes, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bewhatyoudream/pseuds/Bewhatyoudream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You dont know me. I’ve got family that care about me, the best of friends, a job I mostly like, and a crush on both Benedict Cumberbatch and the lady that works in the corner shop.  I’m learning Spanish and how to play the harmonica, I get excited about sci-fi , battenburg cake and mechanical stuff, and i'm passionate about making the world a better place.  I sing badly when I’m alone in the house. And if I wasn’t disabled or magicless I wouldn’t be me." </p>
<p>Carina Roscoe is an administrative assistant and part time inventor and lives with her parents and a tortoise named George. Unfortunately, she has yet to revolutionise the world, but she is working on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baileys Hill

**Author's Note:**

> This is an experiment to see if I can encourage myself to actually finish an entire story. As such unbetaed, not fannish and probably horrifically bad. Don't feel you have to read it

Dear random uber religious arsehole,

You don’t know me. you don’t know that I’m a woman who likes to invent things, drink tea and do simple math for fun. A woman who enjoys a good book, who often dreams in black and white, and moves around a lot in her sleep.

So let me tell you, its not at all unusual that I woke the night before last at at 4am, cold. The duvet was mostly on the floor barely covering one ankle. Simple right? Just reach for it, pull it into place and drift off back to sleep. Not for me. Because I’m one of the .25% of people(or 1765 actual human beings- we’ve covered the maths thing) born in 1990 that has cerebral palsy.

I rely on a wheelchair to get around. I can’t push myself into a sitting position without help, and theres no way I have the strength to haul a duvet back over my useless frigid legs.

Never mind. There i still a solution. Relax, call upon my innate magic. Let the power build in my chest, sing the right words and the duvet will float up in the air and settle itself where it should be. Easy. Except that its not., because me, I’m the overlapping section of a venn diagram. I’m disabled and I’m one of the 5,648 20 or 21 year olds that has no innate magic.

So it seemed my only options were to wake my dad, who got in from a double shift three hours ago, or my mum who had to get ready for her own shift in less than two. Or if I were feeling so inclined I could have quietly shivered and read my book until mum got me up on her way out the door. Hmmm...choices.

So yeah, I’ll admit I wasn’t in the best of moods when I came into town yesterday. Interrupted sleep and a grumpy father a lack of tea because of a broken kettle and a bad morning at work (yes work. Actual work. Your suprised face is deserving of a rant on another occasion) all added together to make me irritable. Just like a “normal” human.

You know what? Irritated as I was, wasn’t going to say anything when I crossed the square and passed by your little group. You can pray out loud if you want, pray for your precious god to bring down healing on my town, filled as is with a larger than usual number of poor magicless wretches. You are entitled to your beliefs as much as i am entitled to scoff at them inside my head.

I stayed silent when you gaped when I drove Gertrude the long way round instead of singing words that would levitate me up the steps. I kept my mouth shut even though i knew you weren’t admiring my brand new metallic purple paint job. There are some battles I can’t be bothered to fight all the time. I just wanted to buy a mug of tea before I had to go back to work and explain to my boss that our database doesn't work like that one he saw on TV. Again.

But then, as I passed you, you reached out and patted my arm - without my permission- like i was some sort of cute fluffy puppy, and told me “I feel the pain of your burden sister. Bless you. I will pray that you are healed of your suffering.”

And my response to that had NOTHING to do with my bad mood. It was automatic and instinctive. Because FUCK YOU

Who are you to decide my life is suffering? I’m not going to say that it isn't hard sometimes, and that I wish there was more things I could do for myself without having to wait for someone to accommodate me. But the messed up world isn't my fault, and my life is pretty awesome.

You dont know me. I’ve got family that care about me, the best of friends, a job I mostly like, and a crush on both Benedict Cumberbatch and the lady that works in the corner shop. I’m learning Spanish and how to play the harmonica, I get excited about sci fi , battenburg cake and mechanical stuff, and i'm passionate about making the world a better place. I sing badly when I’m alone in my house. And if I wasn’t disabled or magicless I wouldn’t be me.

And I’m proud of who I am  
So once more with feeling- Fuck you

Carina Roscoe

P.S No, I won't apologise for my “unladylike” language, but when I revolutionise the world I’ll be magnanimous and allow you to tell people that you were the guy Carina Roscoe wrote that letter about. Also, I won't slap you round the face with a fish when you inevitably complain about how my portrayal of your character is biased and inaccurate. How’s that for a compromise?

***

Carina Roscoe is the winner of our ‘Letter to my Life’ competion 2011. She is an administrative assistant and part time inventor and lives in South West England with her parents and a tortoise named George. Unfortunately, she has yet to revolutionise the world, but she is working on it.


End file.
